


when i choke would you try and help me breathe (can you love the version of me?)

by barbiewrites



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Jason-centric, M/M, Nightmares, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbiewrites/pseuds/barbiewrites
Summary: jason has a nightmare.based on art by @me0nji_t on twitter!
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	when i choke would you try and help me breathe (can you love the version of me?)

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this](https://twitter.com/me0nji_t/status/1303227132420616193) beautiful art on twitter!
> 
> no explicit violence described but there is some detailed pain + somewhat detailed explosion writing. take care of yourself!

Everything hurts.

  


There’s not a single part of him that isn’t in searing pain right now. His vision is blurred with red, his head pounding, and no matter which way he twists on the cold, dirty floor, he can’t find an angle to relax on. 

  


No matter. This isn’t a time for relaxing. If he cranes his neck, he can see her, his mom, tied up and unconscious against a support beam for the building. She’d betrayed him. Sold him out to the man responsible for all this pain, but he needed to save her. That’s what they did, they saved people; even when they didn’t always deserve to be saved. 

  


Bruce would get her out. Jason will, too. 

  


Jason coughs, spitting up blood onto the floor before him. There’s something big and white in it, a tooth, and Jason groans. His jaw aches but he pushes on. Teeth can be replaced, but his mom can’t. He’s gone too long without her. He can save her, after all. 

  


Bruce will be here soon, he tells himself. He always comes. He always has a plan, he always saves the day. 

  


The bomb the Joker has set sits pretty against the wall. Big, red alarm clock numbers count down at him. Maybe it’s the head trauma or just the searing agony from the rest of his body, but each second that passes on the clock seems to take ten. It has to be his mind playing tricks on him, or maybe a sick joke by the Joker. A taunt to him and Bruce. 

  


Despite the pain, Jason squirms inside his restraints. He can feel an uncomfortable clicking in his right wrist and the’s willing to bet something in there is dislocated, and his left ulna is positively broken. He needs to get his hands free, though, so he can help his mom get out of here, so they can go meet Bruce. 

  


Jason shifts around onto his knees, sobbing out loudly as his weight settles onto new broken bones. He’s popped his thumb out of its socket to get out of handcuffs before, but never before in this much collective pain. Hot tears mix with the open cuts on his face as he squeezes his left hand with his right, screaming out as he does, but he starts shaking too hard to move the bone from its place. 

  


Bruce will be here soon, he reminds himself. 

  


He tries with his other hand, squeezing and spitting blood and saliva down his chin as he tries desperately to get free but nothing comes. No pop, no give, nothing but more searing pain and tears. 

  


Jason screams out again, then, his frustration mounting. Everything hurts so badly that it’s blending together, no relief anywhere on his body. He gasps in a breath and gives out a sob, struggling again against his binds and trying to push through all of the pain. It’s temporary, he tells himself, he’ll heal. He has to help Bruce. 

  


A few forced deep breaths help him to calm down. He tries to think of Bruce, always calm and collected, always in control. He can’t think if he’s sobbing, and Jason needs to think now. He forces himself onto his back again, gritting his teeth as his weight falls onto the sore spots of his flesh. He manages to get his hands under his ass, then he takes a few deep breaths and in one agonizing movement pulls them forward and under his legs. He yells out as he does, his flesh feeling as though he’s ripping it right from bone. 

  


It’s a relief, though, to have his arms in front of him. He can work with this. Jason looks back at the bomb. 

  


Only two seconds have passed. 

  


He fixes his eyes on his mother, slumped against the beam. The toes of his boots slide uselessly, painfully against the floor of the warehouse. Jason growls at himself and pushes his feet more decisively against the ground, letting hot, fresh pain climb up to his ankles. He barely manages to bite back a whimper while pushing his elbows beneath him, broken bones bending beneath his movement. His biceps are shaking with effort, his forearms straining under the weight as he crawls towards his mother. He can get to her, he knows it. 

  


Bruce will be here soon, he remembers. Bruce wouldn’t let him down, he’s always there. 

  


Jason’s head is hung, focusing on repeating the movements and watching blood, sweat, tears, trickle-down his nose and make an ugly breadcrumb trail from where he’d started to where he was now. 

  


It feels like he’s been crawling for minutes when he finally looks up, and what little blood he’s managed to hold onto runs cold. He’s impossibly farther from where his mother is tied up. It’s impossible, he thinks. He’d been crawling towards her, no question of it. He can’t be farther than he’d started off. 

  


“Batman!” Jason screams desperately. His voice is hoarse, it hurts to bring in a breath big enough to yell. He turns back over to keep crawling towards her. He’ll keep his head up this time, he thinks. 

  


Only he doesn’t do too well with that as he lands heavily on broken ribs, his chin bumping the ground and sending more hot, sharp pain up his jaw and into his head. He moves his arms, struggles against his bonds where his hands are tied behind his back again. 

  


It’s impossible. None of this makes sense, his wrists are tied even tighter and the distance between him and his mother seems to be growing by the second even as he lies motionless on the floor. 

  


“Mom!” He sobs, and then once more, “Batman!” 

  


Everything hurts, but he can’t stop trying. He foregoes moving his hands this time and tries his knees, one shaky, shitty movement after another. It hurts impossibly worse with nearly all of his weight on two little bones but he can’t stop. He can never stop, he has to keep trying. Bruce will be here soon, he thinks, and Jason is his partner. He has to help him. 

  


Every scoot forward he fights for only ends with more space between them. It has to be half a football field by now. He swears when he started, it’d only been ten feet. 

  


The overwhelming feeling of helplessness surrounds him. It brings it’s friends, too, patheticalness and misery. More hot tears spill down his cheek endlessly, dripping from his chin, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps up this hopeless game, moving closer each plaintive crawl after another. And each time he pushes one searing knee ahead, she moves further and further from him. A hopeless game of cat and mouse, one he’ll never win, one he refuses to give up at. 

  


“Batman!” Jason screams and his lungs shake with the effort of breath. Nothing. Desperately, he tries again, “Bruce!” 

  


Stars swim in his vision. He’s not sure he’ll stay awake with another scream like that, and he feels himself sway. Not wanting to fall again on his ribs, Jason sobs out as he lands on his ass. 

  


Bruce will be here soon, he insists. He always comes. He always has a plan, he always saves the day. 

  


He sees a figure. 

  


“Batman,” Jason whimpers, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He’s not sure how much longer he has as far as consciousness goes, but he wants to apologize. No names on the field. 

  


It worked, though. It worked! Bruce is here. Relief warms his broken chest. Bruce is here, and he’s going to save Jason and his mom. They’ll get out. They’ll make it out of here. He knew it. Bruce always saves the day. 

  


The figure walks closer. Something is wrong. 

  


The man is large, like Bruce, with wide shoulders and strong legs and short hair. His gait is different, though, and too casual. No, if this man were Bruce he’d be running. Rushing to save Jason or untie his mother -- where is she?

  


Jason turns his head desperately, but she’s gone. Everything is gone, actually, save for the man and the red glow of the bomb’s timer, still just a few seconds past from when he’d last looked. 

  


“You have to get out of here,” Jason tells the man as he draws closer. “The place is going to blow,” he pleads, “you have to go! Take the lady, she --” what can he say? Jason doesn’t even know where she is. Some hero he is.

  


The man has green-blue eyes, just like his. His hair is dark, too, save for a white streak above the arch of his eyebrow. His cheekbones are high and his jaw angular, and though Jason is sure he’s never seen this man before he feels familiar. He walks with his hands in his pockets, casual but looking a little melancholic. Like he’s watching history repeat itself, like there’s nothing he can do to save Jason and his mother. 

  


Jason feels fear, dread. Crawling up his throat, thick and ugly and choking.

  


Maybe Bruce sent him, Jason thinks. Maybe this man is here to help get them out and Bruce will find them later. 

  


“It’s going to blow,” Jason tries again, but the man can’t hear him, or maybe he doesn’t care. “You have to get out of here!”

  


The man says nothing, just sits down beside him on the ground and removes one hand from his pocket. He wraps an arm around Jason’s shoulder and though Jason can feel the weight on his skin, lightly across his back and firmly on his shoulder, no pain comes.

  


Maybe he needs saving too, Jason thinks. He’s come to the right place. Bruce will be here soon. He’ll have a plan ready to save them all, just like he always does. 

  


The man is resting his head on Jason’s shoulder now, and after he speaks Jason realizes this man did not come to save him. This man is not much of a man, but rather an angel of death. 

  


“Give it up, Robin,” he says in a gravelly tenor. A tear slips from Jason’s eye, the hand squeezes his shoulder in comfort. “He’s not coming.” 

  


Jason feels heat. Unbelievable, all-consuming heat that cauterizes his wounds and blisters his flesh, hot and ugly and so deafening in his ears that he can’t even hear himself screaming. 

  


He wakes with a start. He’s sweating, and someone’s hand is on him. Jason lashes out blindly with a right hook, ready to scamper out of bed and  away . 

  


Another hand catches his punch, but it’s oddly gentle. No bruising strength, no domination. Someone is in bed with him, hair messy and falling over his shoulders and backlit from the ambient light coming in from the window. 

  


“Hey,” Jason can barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat. “Hey,” he hears again, and then someone gasping for breath. “It’s okay,” the voice assures him. “You’re good. You’re safe.” He realizes belatedly that the gasps are coming from his own mouth. 

  


“Roy,” he forces out. 

  


“Hey, Jaybird,” Roy replies, and the hand holding Jason’s clenched fist moves, coaxes it gently open, and laces their fingers together. 

  


Something drips down onto his chest and Jason uses his free hand to wipe at his cheeks. They’re wet, pathetically so, and he’s suddenly thankful for the low light. Roy isn’t stupid, and he surely knows what Jason is doing, but at least Jason can delude himself into thinking that maybe he didn’t notice. 

  


Roy sits up further and presses a kiss to the back of Jason’s hand, “You okay?”

  


Jason sniffles then looks around the room. After a moment, he asks, “Do you have a cigarette?”

  


“Yeah,” Roy confirms, then leans over and kisses the top of his head, “gimme a second.” 

  


He watches Roy walk around the room, picking up pants and jackets to check pockets, then heading out into their living room and coming back a second later with one lit between his fingers. He holds it out plainly, “There you go.” 

  


Jason is quick to bring it to his lips and take a gratuitous breath in, relishing in the near-instant relief, the fuzz that takes over his head and quiets his thoughts, the relaxation that starts in his core and pushes out towards his fingertips and toes. 

  


He doesn’t say thank you, and Roy climbs back into bed, shoves his pillow around, and reclines. “You wanna talk about it?” He asks after a minute of listening to Jason breathe, of the sound of cars passing below them. 

  


Jason shakes his head and looks at his lap. He moves one hand and scratches at his jaw. “Thought I was over this shit,” he admits, then ashes the cigarette into a half empty cup on the bedside table. “I’m fucking tired of it.” 

  


That’s where it comes from, after all. It’s been years. He’s lived through worse. He’s forgiven Bruce, they made nice and everything is  fine now. He shouldn’t be having dreams like this still.

  


Roy turns onto his back and pushes a hand into his hair. “Some stuff we never grow out of,” he answers plainly. It’s inoffensive and vague and doesn’t really say much of anything particularly significant, but he knows what Roy is thinking of himself. 

  


It’s not bad. Not selfish. Jason prefers it, actually. He’d much rather they quietly relate to one another than have Roy suffocate him with pity and try desperately to claim that he knows what it’s like to be beaten to death’s doorstep and blown up. 

  


Distantly, Jason is glad it’s him that he’s beside. He’s not pushy about stuff like this, isn’t overbearing with pity or so cold it feels like he doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to beg for what he needs and Roy doesn’t make him. Smart in an emotional way that Jason appreciates, shows he cares in ways that don’t put Jason on the spot. There’s this unspoken understanding between them, this push and pull that they don’t need to talk about. Jason doesn’t give easily, so Roy doesn’t try and force it.

  


Jason finally turns and looks at him. Amber light is seeping in from the street, illuminating him in orange-yellow light. Jason can see the freckles dotting his cheeks and his forehead, where they spread across his chest and over his shoulders. His hair is loose and messy from sleep, his shitty half-beard stubble poking through. Roy’s eyes slide from the ceiling to look at him for a moment. 

  


“You gonna take a picture or what?” He asks. 

  


“Shut the fuck up,” Jason replies quickly, eyes shutting and trying to hold his smile back. Just like that, a little of the tension in his body melts away, the kind a nicotine hit can't fix.

  


“I saw that,” Roy moves closer, kisses his neck, bites lightly at his jaw. 

  


“You’re not funny,” Jason counters, shying away from Roy’s stubble tickling his neck. 

  


“I think I’m hilarious,” Roy counters, and one of his hands slides up the back of Jason’s shirt. 

  


“Yeah,” Jason chuckles, “that’s the fuckin’ problem.” 

  


Roy laughs, rich and fruity in his ear, and kisses him on the mouth. “C’mon,” Roy encourages, “put that shit out and lets go back to bed.” 

  


Jason takes one last hit, offers it to Roy who shakes his head, then drops it in the same cup before exhaling. Roy pulls him close, chest to chest with just Jay’s tee separating them. “Dunno if I’m gonna sleep again,” he admits, eyes shutting as Roy presses their foreheads together. 

  


Roy hums in understanding before his hand dips and grabs a handful of Jason’s ass. “You wanna?” 

  


Jason grunts in response, still trying to keep his smile at bay, “Not really in the mood.” 

  


Another sound of understanding, and then his hand slowly returning to Jay’s back. It doesn’t stop moving this time, though, and draws circular patterns with his fingers across Jason’s skin, dragging across patches of mottled scars and smooth skin. “You just wanna stay up and listen to my jokes?” 

  


“Jesus,” Jason responds, scooting down to tuck his head under Roy’s chin. “Might have to try my luck if that’s my only option.” 

  


Roy lets out a low, quiet laugh. “Let’s see how the night goes, yeah?” 

  


Luckily for the both of them, sunrise is only a couple hours away. Roy slips up a few times and Jason can hear the even breathing of sleep above him, and though Jason doesn’t move or say anything, each time he wakes up and goes back to rubbing Jason’s back. 

  


He’s not usually one for staying still, physically or metaphorically. Now, though, he barely moves more than to blink or breathe. He thinks about what Roy had assured him when he first woke up, that he was safe, and he feels it all the way through. 

  


“You don’t have to stay up,” Jason says when Roy wakes himself up for the third time, sleepy hand returning to gentle patterns on his back. Roy makes a noise in response but doesn’t stop. Jason snuggles in closer. 

  


From where he lies he can see half of their window, can see a sliver of the sky turn from black to murky blue. Jason doesn’t sleep, no, but he thinks this is better, anyway. Being able to exist without needing to think, or worry. His dream has shaken him, there’s no doubt, but… it’s comforting to know that he’s not alone in not being completely over that stuff. Years have passed and most days are good, but once in a blue moon he gets caught up in it. His head is a brutal place. 

  


But here, with his face pressed against Roy’s neck and a sleepy hand rubbing his back, he’s safe. 


End file.
